


Rhetoric

by Tarlan



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad had always felt like he was second best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhetoric

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: **mmom site** 2012 - Day 21

He had learned to live with second best as it had followed him for most of his life. Second son, second best in his graduating class, and even second choice for his wife, now ex-wife, who had eventually tired of him and moved out. With his chiseled, all-American looks and broad-shouldered physique, anyone would think he'd at least been first choice on the football team but he'd been a late developer.

While at Crane, Poole and Schmidt, he'd always bristled whenever Alan Shore was around, convinced that the man was like one of those cockroaches that would come out on top even at the end of the world. It annoyed Brad because Alan wasn't tall, didn't exactly keep himself in good shape, and had graduated 3rd in his class from Harvard Law. The more he learned about him, the more it confused Brad. Everything about Alan was lower than second best, and yet when Alan Shore stood up in court, more often enough, he owned the room. His closing arguments were legendary in law circles, and he had been known to flip the minds of a wavering jury in his favor.

When he left Crane, Poole and Schmidt to become a District Attorney, he anticipated meeting Alan across the court room often but, strangely, it rarely happened. There were just too many criminals and too many lawyers in Boston, and Alan seemed to prefer the litigation and civil rights cases to the violent crimes. As _unethically challenged_ as he came across in his methods to save a client, Alan would never defend a rapist, and Brad often wondered if there was a incident from Alan's past that explained his refusal.

He hadn't seen Alan in almost two years when he happened to spot his name as defending counsel in a minor case. Brad's own case had just ended with a guilty verdict, putting another scumbag drug dealer turned murder behind bars for the rest of his life. Usually he felt hyped up from the adrenaline rush of winning, and joined his team for a celebration drink but today they all felt strangely distant. Perhaps it was because the win was dampened by the knowledge of the crime committed by the defendant; the man was a child killer and images of the little boy still haunted him.

It was an open court so Brad slipped into the back and watched Alan in action.

He'd almost forgotten how eloquent Alan could be when all fired up. Quick witted, and quick-tongued, putting the prosecution on edge as they flailed against his rapier sharp mind. Brad had also forgotten how much it turned him on to see Alan this way, and he felt his heart rate quicken and his cock stiffen as Alan laid into the witness, digging holes in the perfect testimony until it hung in tatters, leaving more than enough reasonable doubt to guarantee Alan's client would be let off.

As the rhetoric came to a crushing end for the prosecution, almost flawless in its logic and piecing together of the facts of the case, Brad felt the first tingle of imminent orgasm without once touching himself. He pulled back from the precipice, and quietly left the courtroom, briefcase strategically placed as he made his way to the washroom set aside for court officials. Inside, he entered the furthest cubicle and pulled down his pants and briefs, sitting down on the cold toilet seat. He grasped a handful of tissues before taking himself in hand. It took only a few strokes and the memory of Alan Shore's commanding presence before he was coming hard and silently, catching the release in the tissue to avoid staining his expensive suit.

It took a few more minutes before he regained his breath, only to hear the sound of someone entering the washroom.

Quickly he flushed the evidence down the toilet and pulled himself together, but his step faltered when he opened the door to find Alan leaning against the wall by the wash basins.

"Alan!" He tried to act surprised, which wasn't far from the truth.

"Brad."

Alan had that knowing look as his eyes flicked down Brad's body in speculation, and for a moment Brad thought he might have missed catching some semen.

"You're looking... less tense."

Brad tried for the confused look but Alan gave a shark smile.

"I saw you at the back. I saw you leave looking... flustered."

"Text message."

Brad washed his hands and dried them carefully, pulling back on the urge to run but he sighed, knowing Alan could see through the feigned nonchalance.

"Your closing argument was good."

"I know. I expect the jury to be back within fifteen minutes." Alan glanced at him carefully. "Why don't you wait. We could go for a drink... or something."

Later that night, Brad learned something new about Alan Shore as he kissed the spider tattooed on Alan's right shoulder. When Alan rolled over and kissed him back, deep and hard with all of his intense focus on Brad alone, Brad no longer felt like he was second best.

END


End file.
